


Tape Hiss

by LipstickAndWhiskey (CopperMarigolds)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 12:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11532021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CopperMarigolds/pseuds/LipstickAndWhiskey
Summary: He does what he thinks is for the best. What was best for her. But what he’s really doing is running away, and you can’t run forever.





	Tape Hiss

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of @iwantthedean’s Two Prompt Oneshot Writing Challenge on tumbr- I got the prompt: “I can’t sleep without you." I’ve combined it with a songfic request for ‘Redemption’ by Frank Turner by @ofloveandlonging. Hope you enjoy!

([x](http://yourfavoritedirector.tumblr.com/post/160594105908/2-in-1))

He didn’t look her in the eyes when he said it. The lie was bitter enough rolling off his tongue, and he was sure she’d see it in his eyes if he’d looked at her.

The night was cold, snow drifting to the ground all around him as his hands gripped the steering wheel hard. His knuckles were as white as the snow. As mile markers flew past, the deep dark pit in his stomach only grew. This was for the best. That’s what he kept telling himself as he drove, anyway. He wasn’t good enough for her anyway. He was beyond screwed up, and she deserves better. Better than some idiot with a GED, a few bucks to his name, and a short lifespan. She was in the life, sure, but those around the Winchesters never live long.

By the time he makes it back to the bunker, he’s still convincing himself that it was for the best. It was. He was sure. Wasn’t he?

Sam greets him, quickly taking in his considerably somber mood.

"So did you two have a fight, or what?”

He doesn’t respond, and just heads straight to the bar cart and pours himself a drink.

“That bad, huh?” He continues. “come on, tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dean says, downing a good portion of the whiskey he’d poured himself.

He spends the rest of the night locked in his room.

After a few days, Sam really begins to worry. It had been years since he’d last seen Dean get like this. He’d secluded himself, suiting his mood, seemingly. He left his room rarely, shuffling out only for food and booze. His sleep schedule was wrecked, judging by the odd hours he’d hear him up at. Sam knew this had to be no regular fight.

When he gets off of the phone with her, he’s fuming. He knew his brother had a history of stupid ideas. This one had to top them all for its idiocy.

It’s early when he barges into Deans room, and shakes him awake. He smells like liquor, steeped in regret.

“What the hell, Sam? Go away,” he whines, moving to pull the covers over his head.

Sam doesn’t let him though, pulling the covers from his hands and back toward the end of the bed. “What the hell were you thinking, Dean? The hell, man! You just  _left her in a restaurant by herself?_ ” He thumps him hard in the chest, “What were you  _thinking_ , dude?”

Dean grumbles, a little hungover from whatever he’d been drinking whenever. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sam gives him a dry 'fuck you’ look, “Well, we’re going to. She’s my friend, and I’m not about to let my idiot brother get rid of one of the best things he’s got.”

“Well I ain’t got her anymore, alright. She’s better off without me.”

“Bullshit. We’ve known her for a while, and I’d never seen her as happy as she was with you. She’s all broken up over this, man. You left her without a word, waiting there for you.”

Dean gets up, avoiding Sam’s gaze and washes his face in the dinky little sink in his room. Sam can tell he’s stalling, trying to avoid talking about what’s really going on. Trying to avoid  _feeling._

“Dean, say something. Why did you just leave her there? Don’t you care even a little about her?”

Dean looks up, something akin to fire in his eyes. “Don’t you dare say that,” he points his finger in Sam’s face. “Don’t you dare say I don’t care about her. I  _did this for her._  I can’t fuck up her life. I refuse to do it. I won’t fuck up this relationship, just like I did all the others.”

Sam sighs, “But don’t you see it, Dean? You’re afraid of fucking it up, so afraid of fucking it up that you fucked up! When you care about someone, of course you worry about messing it all up. I worried every day that I’d fuck things up with Jess. You now what, though? I stayed. I worked things out. That’s what you do when you love someone. You stay, and you fight for them, and you do your best.”

Dean stares at him for a moment, “I never said-

"You didn’t have to. I can tell you love her. It’s plain as day all over your face when you look at her.”

Dean hangs his head, “I fucked up.”

Sam smiles a little, a little flash of color in the hallway lifting his hopes. He steps up to Dean, and claps him on the shoulder. “Yeah, you did. Good thing I called a friend over.”

Dean’s face scrunches, his curiosity burning bright at what Sam meant, yet as he looks over and into the hall, he sees her. She’s standing there, like some sort of redemption that only he could find.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” With another pat to his shoulder, Sam leaves.  
It’s awkward, the silence. He’s been living in it for weeks now, drowning in the white noise, and yet only now is it completely unbearable.

“I miss you,” he says, not sure if he’s just saying it to displace the quiet or just because he means it. By the somber look on her face, though, he knows it falls short.

“I fucked up,” he confesses. It’s not much, but it’s the truth.

She nods, “I heard. Several times.”

She doesn’t sound angry, just sad. He’s not sure what to do or say to fix it, but he knows he has to try.

“I’m sorry. For this whole thing,” he chokes out, “I’m so sorry.” He tries to resist the tears that mist behind his eyes, but he’s helpless to the way she’s looking at him. “I’m sorry I left like that, and I’m so sorry that I let my stupidity get in the way like that.”

 **“I can’t sleep without you,”**  she says. He’s startled by the way she blurts it, even more so by the sudden step she takes forward. She’s bright, and she’s his own symbol of hope in this dark, bleak world. She’s all that, and almost within reach.

“I need someone to sleep with who doesn’t mind my cold feet,” she continues. “Would you mind?”

“No,” he says immediately. “I could never mind that.”

“And I need someone who likes to talk late at night when I can’t fall asleep. Can you do that too?”

“Absolutely.”

“And I need someone who kisses me like each time might be the last. What about that?”

He doesn’t bother answering, only stepping forward to press his lips to hers. He does as she asks, though it isn’t hard to oblige, and kisses her like he may never have the chance to again. He takes her face in his hands, and drinks in the smell of her coconut shampoo as his heart bursts. He holds her as though she’s the thing most dear to him, and she is. He feels that he never may deserve her, but he’ll be damned if he never tries to.


End file.
